Killing Woods (21 page)

49

Emily

M
ack lets out a breath of air. He's standing in the middle of the clearing, watching me. I see his pupils big in the moonlight.

‘What are you doing here?' he growls again. He's staring at how I'm half in the ground, half out, trying to understand it.

‘My dad's bunker,' I say, explaining. And it feels strange to say these words out loud, to him – strange to say them now.

I can't say how I was hoping to find Damon, though, or how I need to get that sketch back. Something stops me. Mack's looking all around the clearing then back at me, back at the bunker.

‘It's well hidden,' he says.

I nod.

He digs in a pocket to take out a torch, flicks it on, blinds me with it as he tries to shine it down the entrance hole. ‘Is Damon in there?'

‘Why would he be?'

Mack gives me a strange look. But why did he ask this? Has Damon been talking about me to Mack? Has Damon told Mack everything? Even about being here this morning?

When Mack comes closer, his boots make sucking sounds in the mud. It's almost as if he's going to barrel straight into me, push me backwards into the bunker with him falling on top. I lean away, wedging my shoe tips into the sides of the entrance.

‘Why you looking for him?' I say.

And again, Mack gives me that look.

Up close I see that Mack's eyes are squinting with tiredness, are kind of red. He's moving in small, quick movements. This isn't the cool and collected Mack Jenkins from school – not the tough boy everyone knows him as. He starts craning around me to see inside the bunker. I don't want to let him in but I think he's going to come down anyway.

‘There are no steps,' I say. ‘Wait!'

I find myself moving down into the bunker, start feeling for the lamp. Mack must know what's going on with Damon, maybe he even knows what Damon's done with the sketch. Maybe I could talk to him. Ask him. Maybe he's got answers.

Mack jumps inside before I've got the lamp properly lit, I hear the smack of his boots hitting the floor. He flicks the torch on again. In its brightness, the bunker disappears; all I can see is Mack's face, huge and panicking. I keep my eyes on him as I light that candle, plus two others I find in the drawers. I place them all along the gun slit ledge. If anyone else comes close to us now, they'll see this. Maybe they'll find this bunker. Suddenly it seems important that someone else can find me out here. That Damon could. Or Joe.

Not that Joe would come looking for me now, after the things I've just said to him. I feel for my phone, then realise I never picked it up from my bed. I angle myself so I'm closer to the exit.

‘What's going on, anyway?' I say. ‘Why is everyone so desperate to find Damon? Where's he gone?'

Another flick. The torch turns with Mack and I get blinded again. ‘Don't you know?'

Mack's tone of voice is nasty. It's not just the torchlight that's too much for down here, it's him. Mack's too big, stooping as he walks, buzzing and on edge. It was a mistake letting him come down here.

‘Ever since Damon started talking to you,' Mack says, ‘you've made him think everything's his fault.'

Up close, I smell booze and sweat on him, I see a streak of mud on his neck. He seems even more jumpy than Damon was.

‘I know Damon feels guilty . . .' I start, hesitantly, ‘. . . about what happened.'

Another flick and the torch is off. In the candlelight Mack's face is shadowy and strange, his features distorted. ‘You should've kept away from him! I told him!' There's a warning in his voice.

I watch a bead of sweat trickle from his cropped hair.

‘You're the one who started this,' he murmurs, ‘. . . who keeps telling him he needs to go to the police!'

I try to back away, but the wall is too close. ‘I never said that!'

‘What are you trying to make him do anyway?'

I can see that Mack is scared. He's also moved between the exit hole and me. Suddenly I don't like the thought of being trapped down here with him. I exhale, calmly as I can. Mack's eyes are moving around the bunker, looking at the pictures, in the corners, on the floor. I can tell he's freaking out, taking all this in.

‘How do I know you're not trying to set me up too?' he continues. He moves towards me with his arms out, starts grabbing at me.

I step away. ‘I'm not trying to do anything!'

‘You are! You're trying to make Damon believe he did it.' His eyes narrow. ‘You're trying to make him think he killed his own girlfriend!'

My breath catches. ‘What?'

He glares at me. ‘He didn't, you know.'

I stay silent, frozen.

‘You'll do anything to get your dad off,' Mack keeps on. ‘You're desperate! That's why you're here now, isn't it? You're waiting for him. You're waiting to get the info you
need to run off to the police.'

My mind's racing. I think again of Joe's words from earlier – how convinced he'd been of Damon being involved that night. And now, Mack bringing it up like this?

‘But Damon didn't . . .' I start, and then I wonder something else. ‘Is that why you think he's disappeared? Because he . . .?'

Mack comes towards me fast, grabbing my coat. ‘Damon couldn't hurt anything,' he says. ‘He's not like that. It's just what
you're
making him believe!'

He watches me, looking for some sort of reaction. I don't think he finds it.

‘Stop trying to hang this on him!'

Mack shouts. Mack's too insistent, too panicked. He's making me nervous too. And now stuff is nagging at my brain, a whole pile of it – images. The mark on Damon's face this morning. Joe's story about him being angry and rough with Ashlee. His expression when I showed him Dad's sketch. And then, there's how Mack is acting now.

Other thoughts are piling up too. There's that howling noise I've heard, there's Damon being in Darkwood the other night, there's the way Damon has just disappeared.

I try to think this through. Try not to react like Mack is. But I have no idea what to believe any more. Has Damon been keeping secrets this whole time? Deep, dark secrets? Is he not who I'd thought at all?

‘You were there that night,' I say quietly, trying to hold Mack's gaze. ‘What happened, really? You must know, out of anyone . . . How did Ashlee . . .?'

Mack raises a finger, points it at me. ‘You know what happened! It's like everyone says! Ashlee was drunk. Your dad killed her because he's evil! Damon. Didn't. Do. Anything!'

He says these last words slowly and deliberately, like each word's a bullet. I'm not sure he believes his words, though, it's more like he's trying to force me to. More like he's panicking. He hulks over me, his finger close to my cheek.

‘You started this,' he says again. ‘You changed everything. And you're never going to believe it was your dad, are you? Whatever evidence there is. You're always going to keep going after Damon!'

He pulls away to look out of the gun slit. I notice the pulse in his temple, beating fast.

‘I know what you're doing,' he adds quietly. ‘You're playing on the guilt Damon's got, you're poisoning him!'

‘No!'

‘You're trying to scare him into saying something untrue. You're trying to frame him . . . frame us . . .'

‘I'm not!'

He reaches out, grabs my coat again, his fingers searching through it almost like he's checking for wires.

‘You'd ruin Damon's life just to get your dad released?' he's saying. ‘Even when your dad admitted it? Even when you know your dad
wants
to be in prison?'

I pull away from him sharply. ‘I don't know that. No one does.'

‘They won't believe you, you know,' he says. ‘At the end
of the day, your dad's the one in prison, not Damo. They're not going to start all that investigation stuff again now.'

I'm still trying to shrug his fingers off me.

‘Maybe we should find Damon,' I say. ‘Maybe we need to calm down and get out of this bunker!'

‘I've looked for him!' Mack's arm flings sideways, narrowly missing one of the candles. ‘Has he gone to the police already? Have you told him to?'

‘I wouldn't do that!'

I'm about to tell Mack that I don't think Damon hurt Ashlee that night, I'm about to try to make him see that I'm serious about this – but my mouth jams up. I'm thinking of Joe's determined face, the fear in Damon's eyes this morning, and that sketch.
That sketch!
I'm trying to remember how that wolf looked in it.

‘It can't be,' I say. ‘It just . . .' But I can't say it. Because I don't know who anyone is any more, what anyone is capable of. I look to the wolves on the ceiling instead, back to Mack. He's as still as a rock, watching me. His dark eyes look glazed and on fire at the same time, a hundred questions blazing out.

‘It wasn't Damon!' Mack shouts. ‘It was your dad that did everything!'

I stare at the wolf above me. I'm seeing things, I
must
be – because now I recognise this wolf's expression. Right now, I recognise its eyes. I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands, hard – feel that I'm still here, see that this wolf is still there too. I'm not imagining this.

No wonder Damon was so freaked out this morning
when he came inside here. No wonder he kept looking at the pictures on these walls, over and over. No wonder he wanted to keep that sketch. He knew it too.

How could I not realise all this before? For certain?

It was what Dad was best at – finding the animal in people, drawing them like that. Suddenly these wolf eyes become glaringly obvious, its expression is clear. And I know who Dad was drawing. Absolutely. Of course I do.

50

Damon

I
turn and climb fast, my hands scrabbling to keep a grip.

The air is catching in my throat, but I can't fall. Not with this phone in my pocket – not with that final film on it. I push on 'til my fingertips find the ledge where the tiny cave is; I scrape the side of my cheek as I pull myself up and on to it. I roll on to my back and look at the moon, though all I'm seeing is that film.

I see hands.

Her neck.

I push my fists against the rock 'til my knuckles graze. There's a freezing wind on my cheeks.

Ashlee falling.

The moon is shining on my brain, like the lights in that
interview room. But my brain's clear now, clearer.

Her words.

Laughter.

Shakily, I drag myself to my feet. And breathe . . . and breathe . . .

I head for the deer track down. I'm tripping and stumbling as I'm running, but I don't fall. I skid into a tree, knocking air from my lungs.

I'm trying to listen for any more howling, but the wind shoots up, freezes me, grabs my old man's combat shirt and whips it against me. I see a star above, winking like it knows every terrible secret . . . like it knows what I've just seen. I wipe blood off my cheeks, keep moving.

51

Emily

O
n the ceiling behind Mack's left ear is a sketch of a wolf. It's snarling, blood dripping from its teeth. There's another one beside my shoulder. I'm surrounded.

How could I have ever thought that the wolf in these pictures was Dad? Dad is slighter and short. His eyes are pale and watery and his expression hesitant. He's more like a bird, something fragile. There's nothing of the wolf in him.

Mack is shouting something at me, something about Damon. Does Mack know? Did he see these pictures as soon as he got down here and work it all out? I'm dizzy and need to leave. But Mack is standing in my way.

I push at him. ‘Let me through!'

Mack shakes his head. ‘Damon's my mate, my brother . . .'

I push him harder. I'm not going to stay here, not with him, not with those pictures.

‘You're not going to the police!' he shouts.

And there's another sound. Above us, on the forest floor, coming closer. Footsteps. For the second time tonight. I feel Mack's fingers go stiff where he's been grabbing my arm. We wait.

When I look up at the bunker hole, Damon is there. He's peering in, squinting at both of us then looking at the candles. Did he see the light and follow it? Hear us? He looks so confused.

‘Mack?' he says.

But he's looking at me. Wide eyes. There's blood or dirt or something on his face, his hair's stuck up everywhere. His chest is heaving like flanks.

Mack lets go of me. ‘I've been looking for you, Damo! All bloody evening!'

Only then does Damon drop my gaze and stare at Mack instead. I press myself to the wall. I have to get out of here, but there's two of them now to get around. Damon is crouching over the entrance, he's jumping down into here! I step away from them both and want to melt through these walls, want to dig myself up to the surface, make a tunnel. I can see it so clearly now . . . the long taut body, the focused expression, the long nose and muscly shoulders and
those eyes
. Those exact same dark and fiery
and exhausted eyes! Those eyes are here in this bunker, right now, with me.

I have to leave.

But Damon is coming towards me like he's about to say something. Mack grabs his shoulder fast.

‘She thinks it's you, Damo,' Mack says. ‘If you don't stop her, she'll go to the police.'

This makes Damon snap around to him. I breathe out slowly, inch along the wall.

‘Good!' Damon's voice is loud.

He thrusts his shoulders into Mack's chest and pushes him back, makes him stumble. Mack's got his hands up, but he's not shoving him away.

‘Mate!' I hear him say. ‘What are you on about?'

‘I saw the film, Mack!'

I stop moving, listen.

‘You been keeping secrets!'

I'm almost under the entrance hole when I see Damon grab Mack by the throat with one hand and reach into his pocket with the other. He takes out a phone, waves it in Mack's face.

Mack's body goes slack as he sees it. ‘Where'd you get that?'

‘You know where!' Again Damon pushes Mack, so hard I hear something crack on the bricks.

Mack gasps for breath. ‘I didn't . . . I didn't do anything!'

I look from Mack's eyes to Damon's. Mack's hands are flailing towards the gun slit as Damon's grip tightens on
his neck. I'm under the entrance hole now. I just need to jump up so my hands can find the ledge, wedge my feet into the sides, climb up, and I'm gone.

‘Tell me what's going on!' Damon's yelling. ‘What did you do, Mack? What happened that night?'

I don't jump for the ledge. Instead I turn back and see Damon still waving that phone about. I see that it's beaten about and covered in dirt.

‘I didn't do anything!' Mack roars, finally throwing Damon off him. ‘I didn't!'

He's furious, red-faced, and he's looking at me now.

‘You should stop her!' he says. ‘Seriously!'

His dark, glinting eyes reflect the candlelight. I don't move. Not yet. I'm still wondering about that phone.

‘She'll go to the police,' Mack repeats. ‘She'll tell them everything about us . . . the Game, Ashlee . . .'

His lips are curled back as he speaks. I see the wolf in him so clearly that I almost gasp. That makes me reach up, makes me grab the edge of the entrance hole.

‘Stop!' Mack yells, and he lunges.

But Damon's after him, pulling Mack back. He holds the phone out of Mack's way and he looks right at me.

‘Let her go to the police,' he says.

There's a challenge in Damon's eyes, like there was when we were on the Leap together last week, like when he held his hand like a gun.

Mack uses that moment to grab Damon, to get him in a headlock. I bring my feet up until my toes are against the wall, start to climb. But Damon is still looking at me,
and that look is desperate, pleading. That's when Mack knocks the phone out of his hand. It skitters across the concrete, comes to rest just underneath me. And I don't think. I just drop back down into the bunker and I reach for it.